Poem: Pink Floyd The Wall
I can't listen to Pink Floyd The Wall. It is forever trapped inside a red Sony Walkman, hanging on a belt around some stonewash jeans. Unlaced basketball boots beneath it, peddling along as a flat-deck truck drives by with farm-hands hanging off the back yelling ‘homo’ at whoever they can, high-fiving in self-congratulation as the beautiful homes of Hav…
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